


our winter

by karlamartinova



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karlamartinova/pseuds/karlamartinova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our winter

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: winter in our blood

Sansa shivers. It isn’t from the cold seeping through the ruins of the room she once called her own. Nothing about this is her own now, only ash reminds her of her clothes, dolls old Septa had once helped her to make. The smell of death still hangs in the air and Sansa touches her cheek wiping the single tear she was able to shed. 

She had cried too much in her young life, cried for her father, for her mother, brothers and sister, for the horrible things she has seen from her window in Kings Landing. Sansa has no more tears.

She shivers again and it’s not from cold, she is a Stark and they are born with winter in their blood. Its Robb with a weary look and darkness inside his soul, his footsteps are heavy as he advances toward her and Sansa makes a step backwards. 

“You need more furs, sister. The cold is different now, it bites like a pup,” his voice is raspy and she covers her arms because its only one of the reasons she came to hide here, from the past, the present, from him. He is her only family, the only Stark beside herself and yet she wants to be far from him as possible. He shouldn’t, they shouldn’t and Robb still walks toward her and she thinks about Jamie and Cersei and what their forbidden love brought upon Seven Kingdoms.

“It can’t be worse,” a voice inside her head whispers softly. It reminds her of Shae, of her friend and confidant and she knows she is right. It can’t be.  
“I’m a Stark, I don’t need anyone to tell me when I’m cold, brother,” she says coldly emphasizing the title. 

Robb smiles and it’s a soft smile, one he used to send to Bran before he ruffled his hair. But Bran is gone, as is Rickon and Arya. Sansa doesn’t want to think about Catelyn, desperately tries to forget the scream that erupted within her throat when they showed her where the bodies of her sons hanged, how she wished she had an answer when her mother asked about Arya. But she didn’t and their mother is still wandering through forests of the fallen castle of Winterfell looking for her children.

“It seems so,” he says but still takes off his furs and puts them around her shoulder, his hand briefly touches her locks and Sansa releases a breath. It’s too loud, it says too much and she turns sharply facing the hole in the wall.

Robb knows why she did it, she knows that, knows that he is fully aware of the curse that was sent upon them. But he still reaches for her, touches her back and comes even closer. Sansa wants to stop him, she wants to scream, to die, to look for her mother and see Ned’s face again. She wants so many things at once, things which are unattainable and so very close. 

Sansa doesn’t know what Robb wants but he is still behind her, still touching her and when he leans, she feels his breath on her face. A touch of his lips on her cheek makes her gasp but she doesn’t turn away, doesn’t run.

“Don’t fight it, Sansa. There is no future for us, there is nothing. Just death,” he rasps and she feels the length of his body against hers. His arm goes around her middle and before she could think she reaches for it. Their fingers intertwine and that’s the moments Sansa stops fighting it. They are cursed, they are alive despite things they done while their innocent brothers were burned by a man they almost considered one. There is nothing left for them. 

Robb claims her mouth then, holding her chin with one hand while letting the other one wander over her body. The sensation is new for her, he isn’t hurting her, hurling words that sting more than a sword. He wants her, not her mother, not just a warm body that knows how to respond.

“You are beautiful,” Robb whispers against her lips and Sansa turns in his arms. She wants to be closer, much closer.

“Say it again,” she pleads and he does as she asks. 

The wind blows through the hole and it sounds like death, howling of their people killed between these ruins, of all the Starks that walked around them. Their past and heritage. 

Sansa loses her breathe then but Robb gives her his, helps her untangle from the robes and furs, she pulls at his leathers and together they fall to the floor with a quiet thud. Her bed is cold when they sit on it but there is different heat building between them. Passion and perversion, not love, never love and Sansa reaches for him, pulls him on top of her and opens her legs for him. 

Robb reaches between her legs but stops, his eyes find hers and there is hesitation. They grew up together, played outside knights and princesses and followed when mother submitted them. Sansa knows this is the time to stop this, the last chance the curse is giving them. She could leave and he could stay, they could change names and live different lives. 

“No,” she whispers and reaches for his cheek. “I can’t live without you, I don’t want to.” And there might be a question in Robb’s eyes but it stays unspoken as Sansa raises her hips in invitation. 

Hesitation gone, he kisses her and pushes into her with one powerful thrust.

Sansa winces. It hurts; it always did but she smiles and nods for him to continue. She doesn’t trust her mouth to speak; she just moves her hips the way she was taught. “It makes them mad,” Cersei had told her then, moving around the bed like a cat prepared to attack.

Robb’s eyes roll inside his head and he starts to thrust furiously, momentarily forgetting about anything just his own release and Sansa bits in her tongue and waits for her own body to react. It does and she feels herself reaching where she never reached before as the wooden bed squeaks under them.

There is no one to hear them, no one to stop them from fulfilling the curse. The curse of the Starks, them, residing in each other bodies, as it once was foretold.


End file.
